More
by S.R Devaste
Summary: Lisbon has spent a lot of time waiting for Patrick Jane, and even more time wanting him. With Red John dead, she decided to finally give up. There's only one problem. Patrick Jane is far from through with her.


The door bursts open without warning. For a brief moment Lisbon wonders if her room is being invaded by a ghost, until golden hair and a tanner version of a face she knows so well peeks through, smiling.

"Lisssbon, I brought you souve-"Instantly, his smile sublimates into shock. "You're leaving"

Lisbon drops the box; it lands with a muffled thud, right on her toe. "I'm just packing away some old stuff," she says through a prison of gritted teeth.

He looks remorseful, moving to help her, but then he remembers. "No you're not. You wouldn't pack away the picture of Menelli." With the heel of his loafer he slams the door behind him.

Lisbon places both of her hands on the desk, taking in what she hopes is a deep even breath. She doesn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Jane."

"You just decided this today. I would've known-"

She smiles to herself, but it's as weak as a faded photograph. "I've been deciding this a while."

He turns to look at the bull pen. Van Pelt's working hard as normal, Rigsby's teasing her about her new penchant for veganism. Yet, viewed through the lense of Lisbon leaving their overactive banter makes a little more sense; they're trying to make up for something. He thought that things were just different, because he had come back. He assumed they were feeling awkward around him, because, well, after all, he had shot and killed Red John only a few weeks prior. He shakes his head and turns to look at Lisbon.

"You're leaving because of me."

"No," she responds too quickly for it to be true.

Darkness she had thought was gone from Jane flickers across his eyes. "You asked me to go on vacation just so you wouldn't have to lie to my face, but here you are, lying to my face."

Lisbon's hand almost reaches for her gun, but then she stops herself. "Ironic huh?" She gives him one of the sideways looks she always gives, only this time, her smile's broken.

And then Jane knows.

He always knew of course, but Jane knows so many things that the theories and the truths get mixed up sometimes. His secret is that most of the time he acts on theories as if they're truths and truths as if they're theories and things usually work out for him. But with Lisbon he's been careful.

Too careful, he sees now, and his favorite little truth is about to run away.

But he knows, and for Jane knowing is more powerful than a 38. caliber

He smiles.

Lisbon doesn't take his smile well, at first she's annoyed, but she catches it, as she catches most of her selfish impulses, and tempers it with concern. "Jane, are you alright. I should have given you more notice. It wasn't considerate of me."

Jane shrugs his shoulders. "Don't worry about it."

"Jane?" Tentatively, Lisbon moves around her desk.

"Teresa?"

Lisbon stops moving at standing her ground. Jane can almost see her eyes scanning the room for cover, as if this is a shoot out. "If you think calling me by me first name will get me to take you on with my new team. You're wrong."

"Nope." He sticks his hands in his pockets. "But, I am curious. Why are you leaving exactly?"

She rolls her eyes, but her lips are still tight, a damn against tears. "You've got Red John. You don't need us anymore. Sticking around will just bring back bad memories."

"But if that were the case than I would have left you. If I didn't know you well I would almost say this is a preemptive strike 'for my own good . . ." He makes a show of examining the now empty bookshelves, the motion distracting from the fact that he's moving closer and closer to Lisbon.

"Maybe that's what it is, then." Jane imagines her pulse is pulpy, but strong. He can almost hear it. He does hear her swallow after she speaks. Dry throat, sweaty palms. If the situation were different he would laugh at the idea of a nervous Lisbon.

"No. It almost makes sense, fits with you're controlling MMO, but no."

"MMO?"

"Martyr Modus Opperendi." He sidesteps, still facing the bookshelves, but now Teresa can't ignore the fact that he's definitely moving toward her.

"Following the laws and asking my employees to do the same is not contr-"

"Hush, Teresa."

"Stop it!" she cries, loud enough that Van Pelt and Rigsby turn around in the bullpen. Immediately, she gathers her self control, but it leaves her gaze as sharp and emerald a blade of grass. "It's not professional, and if you continue-"

"You'll what, fire me? Looks like you already did that. Where are you moving?"

"FBI."

He gives a low, long whistle. "Your whole team. That's a pretty sweet deal. Well, almost your whole team, but I guess I'm not really a part of that am I?"

Guilt lures Lisbon away from the cover of her desk and to Jane. "No, you were the best part of our team. It's just-"

He almost has her. He is so close, his fingers almost touching her hair. "You think you need me too much."

She tries to draw back, but she made the mistake of getting close in the first place, so Jane just grabs her wrist. His guess was right, her pulse is pulpy, heady, thick. As always in their little dance, she doesn't pull away.

She never did, stayed with him through anything and everything. But now, she's leaving. And yet, it was the clearest indication he could have ever given him. It means she's serious.

"It scares you-"

"Let me go," the command is half-hearted, and Jane knows it. If she wanted to be let go, she would do the letting.

"I can feel it." With the tip of his forefinger her presses her pulse point. "I can also feel that it excites you." He steps closer, until the tips of their shoes touch; her pulse double-times. "And that scares you more."

Lisbon shrugs, resigned. "I never planned on lying to you, Jane. Honestly, I thought you knew. You say you know everything. I thought you were just being kind to me, leaving me my dignity." Realizing how close she's gotten to an admission she backpedals. "Anyway, I'm a professional, it was okay for it to be banter, but not. . ."

"Not more," he finishes for her.

She nods her eyes steadfast on the ground, ashamed that she tried to lie to him, to leave him. "I just felt so out of control. You had killed him and you were going to leave like you left before. When you left I _waited_, Jane." Self-loathing taints her beauty like stark shadows at noon. "I didn't mean to wait, but I did. I hated myself for that. I can't wait for you any-"

She's interrupted by his lips on hers.

And it tastes like more.


End file.
